


watching

by wordtheef



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Masturbation, Modern Era, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Public Masturbation, Shameless Smut, Sort Of, Strip Tease, Tarth, Voyeurism, consensual voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordtheef/pseuds/wordtheef
Summary: Jaime drives to Tarth at night, all to look into a window.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 15
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

Tarth is quiet at night in a way that Kings Landing doesn’t even aspire to . The dark places are  _dark_ , and the silence is made up of a hundred tiny sounds that Jaime’s never bothered to hear before. Leaves skittering across the dirt, grass moving in the breeze — that sort of shit. _Nature_. It sounds like nature. Bucolic.

He shifts in his seat.

At home, in Kings Landing, there are sirens and shouting and laughter. No stars. No moon ...

Fuck the stars, he doesn’t need stars. His condo looks out over the city and the wide windows block out the noise and the lights come on in the darkness —

Her light comes on.

He flinches —

but no, she doesn’t look out, doesn’t look down, doesn’t see his car parked here staring upwards into her bedroom. He’s safe.

So he unbuttons his trousers. Grips himself.  _Brienne_ .

And then she comes to the window.

Jaime freezes just as he is — hand on his cock, half-hard — because she’s looking out towards him.  _At him?_ I mpossible to tell: she’s not much more than a silhouette in the dark, soft light around her head and shoulders, showing the shape of her elbows and wrists as she leans on the sill,  staring outward.

She stands there longer than he can bear it — he’s already aching to  see her — and more than that, worse than that is knowing he can’t move. Dark as it is here, she still might see something. If he moves. If he  strokes .

Surely he can tighten his grip just a little. His hips shift too, unbidden; he closes his eyes.

When he opens them again she is gone.

Disappointment floods him, how could he miss her, how is he always so  _stupid_

— but she comes back, thank every god he’s never prayed to, she is standing again with the light behind her. She stretches up her arms and ties up her hair (when did it grow?) and — gods help him — lifts her shirt over her head.

Jaime whimpers — can’t help it — just looking at her he’s getting harder. His hand moves faster, just looking, because her waist curves in and her breasts curve out and gods she’s bending over, fiddling at her hips, sliding down her tousers over the best-kept secret in Westeros, he’s known it for years — wanted her for years — she must be naked now or close to it —

Does she sleep naked, he wonders. Do her sheets smell of her body, smell of her cunt? Does she think of me? Fingers dipping inside her body, the taste of wet, salt and sweet, her thighs spread for his mouth. There, she says, gasping it out. Right there, yes.  _Jaime_ . 

He is wet now too, thrusting into his hand and arching up, saying her name aloud until he comes with a muffled moan, biting his lip.

He tastes blood.

Opens his eyes.

Her light is out now. It’s time to leave. “Tomorrow,” he says, knowing she can’t hear. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

She shouldn’t be like this. _They_ shouldn’t be like this. He‘d never gone three sentences without insulting her, when he bothered to speak at all. And she ...

_Ignorant, arrogant, selfish and stupid_ she’d called him once.

Those green eyes narrowed — but he laughed. _Ignorant and stupid are the same thing._

_ No, they aren’t. _

Had she wanted him even then?

Surely not.

Something had changed after high school, when they weren’t forced to sit in the same homeroom and swim on the same team. Left to their own devices, no more reason to duel — but every time Brienne was up for a prize, Jaime found his way into the competition. Charity races, job interviews. Even a photography contest — “This is for _locals,_ ” she’d hissed.

He had smiled. “Afraid to lose?”

Humiliated, spurned on by his bad behaviour, she did the same thing. Searched out his name in the paper, listened to conversations she wasn’t part of. She accidentally met his niece in the park and bought her an ice-cream bribe, fishing for information about uncle Jaime — just so she could see her own name above his on the board at his boxing club. 

He clapped for her politely enough, that afternoon. And he parked outside her house that evening.  Purely to annoy her, of course.

Whyever it started didn’t matter: everything was different now. She dawdled over undressing, waiting for him to arrive. _Jaime_. The light behind her, playing with each button on her shirt like it was a nipple — pretending she didn’t see him watching — sliding her jeans down over her ass and thighs. A practiced move.

She tried not to look outside and did it anyway. He’d be slouched down, head tilted back. Touching himself?

He should be touching her.

Bra off — she turned around and unhooked it with careful, casual slowness — turning just enough so what little she had was silhouetted, cradled, darkness caught by light. 

And held still. 

Her fingers worked into her underpants. 

He wouldn’t see that, he wouldn’t see when she found herself, the movement was too small, the way her eyelids closed was dark to him. Something new to find, Jaime. When you’re here. 

_Wet,_ he’d tell her. _You’re so wet._ Cupping her in his palm. _Is that it, Brienne?_

She can almost see his eyes shut, out there in the dark place below the trees. _Let me,_ crawling over him, straddling those hips. He moans a little when she brushes him — catches the sound between his teeth and smiles at her instead.

_I heard that, Lannister._ She rubs her mouth against his throat. It’s all rough with a five-o’clock shadow, all spice and sweet. He growls and she bites down, a warning. _Behave._

He won’t. Doesn’t. Instead he tugs at her underwear —

_ Granny panties, Tarth? _

_You don’t deserve my special pair_ she says — and he laughs at that, goddamn him — he rocks his hips upwards as he dips a finger into her, no preamble anymore. _You're ready for me. You want me._

_Fuck off,_ but it comes out on a gasp. _Fuck me already, you asshole, stop dicking around._

Hard now, not laughing, her hand moving faster — _No patience, Brienne? Are you always like this for me?_

_Stupid, arrogant_ — she moves to her clit, pinching hard. Why isn’t he here. Slip inside again. _Jaime_.

He sits there every night and looks at her and rubs himself, he gets hard and ready — like she is, hard — tight and shaking — so, is this another duel? I could take you, Lannister.

The curve of his mouth when he loses; his smug assurance, that smirk. _Wanna bet?_

Her thighs tremble, her hips jerk. Yes. More. There. _Jaime,_ hand clenching into the sheet like it’s his shirt, his hair. Pulling harder, moving faster — in and out, teasing because he would tease, he wouldn’t let her come easy, he’d make her try —

Alone in her room, Brienne cries out aloud. 

_I like it when you're wet_ , Jaime says in her ear --  but t he road is empty again, he is gone again, so  she lets the curtain fall and tries to go to sleep, tries to dream about tomorrow night.


End file.
